four

here's to sunshine,
and breaking the law in it.
here's to morning cold,
and the purples and pinks that it paints with.
here's to hot coffee, cold coffee,
and feeling infinite.
here's to sweet people with soft voices,
and the loud gigglers too.
here's to hoodies with soft linings,
and wearing the hoods up to look cool.
here's to today, to life,
and to being young.

I like writing in free verse.
because I'm a liberated woman and I do what I want.

Ellie the Elephant (three)

Part of my 52 weeks is to try to do a drawing as many weeks out of the year as I can.
I really have been pretty lazy about that...

I made this book for my niece. I think that counts as a "drawing".
It was such a joy to make and I so look forward to reading it with her!

Three

I know your type
you're the kind that walks with your head on straight
in spite of the war that's raging in your mind
I know you
you're the kind that bikes on rainy days
so you won't have to speak to anyone you may pass
so that you can just think. think. think.

you think too much
I know that too

I know your type
you're the kind that pleads with God to make you and your friends so
so much better
the type that rubs your rose-colored eyes with both your hands and whispers nightly
"help soandso know that hey're loved infinitely" and "help them live truly"
"really"
"fully"
you say this
all the while not at all feeling alive or loved

oh I know this too well
you see, I've been you before
you coffee drinker, late-night reader
you never-crier but intense feeler

I get it

I've walked that wooden path
I've gripped the metal with my hands as the wind whipped my face with my unkempt hair

I get it

I've stared at the waters, feeling a sick despair grow inside me
wanting, longing, yearning for someone to touch my shoulder and say

"don't jump" or "I love you" or just anything

I get it
I've been you
sometimes I still am

I know you, that's why I'm telling you now with my theoretical hand touching your shoulder

don't do it.

Anis Mojgani

SHAKE THE DUST

this is for the fat girls
this is for the little brothers
this is for the schoolyard wimps
and for the childhood bullies that tormented them
for the former prom queen and for the milk crate ballplayers
for the nighttime cereal eaters
and for the retired elderly Wal-Mart store front door greeters
shake the dust

this is for the benches and the people sitting upon them
for the bus drivers driving a million broken hymns
for the men who have to hold down three jobs simply to hold up their children
for the night schoolers and for the midnight bike riders trying to fly
shake the dust

for the two year olds who cannot be understood
because they speak half English and half God
shake the dust
for the boys with the beautiful sisters
shake the dust
for the girls with the brothers who are going crazy
for those gym class wallflowers
for the 12 year olds afraid of taking public showers
for the kid who’s always late to class
because he forgets the combination to his locker
for the girl who loves somebody else
shake the dust

this is for the hard men who want love but know that it won’t come

for the ones who are forgotten
the ones the amendments do not stand up for
for the ones who are told speak only when you are spoken to
and then are never spoken to
speak every time you stand
so you do not forget yourself
do not let a moment go by that doesn’t remind you
that your heart beats thousands of times a day
and that there are enough gallons of blood to make every one of us an ocean
do not settle for letting these waves settle and for the dust to collect in your veins

this is for the celibate pedophile who keeps on struggling
for the poetry teachers and for the people who go on vacations alone

for the sweat that drips off of Mick Jagger’s singing lips
for the shaking skirt on Tina Turner’s shaking hips
for the heavens and for the hells through which Tina has lived

this is for the tired and for the dreamers
for the families that will never be like the Cleavers
with perfectly made dinners
and sons like Wally and the Beaver
this is for the bigots
for the sexists
for the killers
for the big house pen-sentenced cats becoming redeemers
and for the springtime
that always seems to show up right after the winters

this is for you

make sure that by the time the fisherman returns
you are gone again
because just like the days I burn at both ends
and every time I write every time I open my eyes
I am cutting out parts of myself just to give them to you
so shake the dust
and take me with you when you do
for none of this has ever been for me
all that pushes and pulls
it pushes for you
so grab this world by its clothespins
and shake it out again and again
and hop on top
and take it for a spin
and when you hop off
shake it again
for this is yours

make my words worth it

make this not just another poem that I write

not just another poem
like just another night that sits heavy above us all
walk into it
breath it in
let it crawl though the halls of your arms
like the millions of years of millions of poets
coursing like blood
pumping and pushing
making you live
shaking the dust
so when the world knocks at your door
clutch the knob tightly
and open on up
running forward into its widespread greeting arms
with your hands before you
fingertips trembling
though they may be

why. have I not known about this man sooner.
shake the dust.

Two

a wise man once said these words about the garden-children:

We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mudpies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.

how true those words are. I am a half-hearted creature, wand'ring through the wilderness trying to find what I am to do in this world.
my heart beats half a beat.
my blood is only half-pumped.
I am left half-alive because I do not know what is real life.
I am too busy covering my self with the muck around me to focus on the glory above me.
I am a little mouse, scuffling through the dusty cracks in walls to my filthy home.
I am a masked raccoon, scrambling from the light with someone's leftover rubbish in my mouth.
I am a scaled snake, slithering on the ground, eating dust.
I was not created to be this way.
I was created to be a whole-hearted human.
with full heartbeats that sound strong and true.
with a heart that steadily pumps blood through my veins, causing me to live in joy and majesty with my King.
all of this I know.
what I do not know and I am asking You now is,
how am I supposed to find the other half of this heart of mine?

One

apart of my 52 weeks project is trying to write at least one thing-any kind of "thing"-a week.
I'll share those "things" here. They won't be perfect and formulaic and stuff. They'll most likely be trains of thought. Just a warning.
this is from last week.

Sound crept from the corners of the small room until it was crowded with the warm strumming of a guitar. There she sat on his bed as he softly sung about being young. The grey sky clouded over until it was as dark as twilight-although it was just afternoon.
He cleared his throat as his thin fingers found their home on the strings. The crowded sounds caused the room to warm until the girl was rather drowsy. She leaned on his bed post and closed her eyes-letting the sounds caress her ears until she was quite asleep.
Making a sudden motion, he finished the song.
She breathed in deeply and, while rubbing eyes, softly exhaled "it's lovely."

opossum

I found a dead opossum in my yard a couple weeks ago.
so me and my funny friends took pictures with it.
you know, nothing too crazy.

I'm starting my last semester of Chattanooga State tomorrow. I thought I would be bittersweet...but I'm not.
I cannot wait until I am done. I think they do a great thing there and help many people. I just can't take the oppressive spirit of it all. The attitude of most of the students is a dark and sort of confused flippancy. The other students are pretty desperate and school is their last-ditch effort.
It's heartbreaking.
I hope I can be a little light in the darkness.
and spread what my friend calls "Mary-ness" (I go by Mary there...it's my first name on the role) everywhere.
the beginning of the end. dun dun dunnnnnnn.

hello 2012

This is who I spent my New Year's with. trust me, it was fun.

I'm welcoming the new year with open arms. I'm quite ready for things to progress in my life and this year holds many changes that will result in progressing.
I'm lucky to have few regrets (if any, really) from last year. I feel like 2011 was lived to the very fullest, in spite of the dark semester I had this fall. I'm not making any resolutions this year. I'm going to let things evolve naturally and just live and not talk about living as much. I hope that makes sense.
So happy new year. I hope last year was lovely. I hope this year will be even lovelier.

I am starting a 52 weeks project. Which I will update on my Flickr (there's a little thing up in the left corner)
A picture a week. I know I can handle that.